


Let's Play God/You Go Next

by lesbianbean



Series: you want the world/well what's it worth? [4]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, American Politics, Breaking free from a toxic family member, Character Study, Emotional Manipulation, Gen, Michael Bay can fight me, Military Backstory, Political Dynasties, Rule 63, militarism is bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-27 17:35:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20049898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianbean/pseuds/lesbianbean
Summary: Optimus Prime wants to be a good person. She's also weighed down by expectations from a mentor she doesn't completely understand, and her own conscience, which is getting louder every day.___aka--what the Autobots have been up to in this AU





	Let's Play God/You Go Next

Optimus Prime’s earliest memory of her aunt was that she was tall--taller than her father, who she’d previously thought was the tallest person in the world. She’d walked into their grandmother’s beachouse on July second, as Optimus was unfolding the board for the family’s nightly game of Monopoly. When she walked in, a hush fell over the room. Her aunt hugged her grandmother, who she dwarfed by nearly a head, and smiled at the rest of the assembled relatives. 

“Don’t stop on my account.” 

Optimus stayed quiet, waiting for a lull in the conversation to introduce herself. She hoped her aunt wouldn’t delay Monopoly too long-- past experience had taught her that her mother would send her to bed at ten-thirty regardless of whether the game was over or not. When her aunt finally knelt down to greet her she felt nervous for some reason. Maybe it was the tight look on her mother’s face, or the way her favorite uncle had abruptly left the room when she entered. She could see the glow of a cigarette out by the water, which was odd--Optimus had never seen her uncle smoke.

“I’m your father’s big sister. Sentinel. And you’re Optimus, hm? I’ve heard a lot about you.” 

She had nodded, not sure what her aunt was talking about. Her aunt smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. Something about her frightened Optimus, but she couldn’t understand what it was, and so she forced herself to put it aside. “You’re quiet.”

“Do you like Monopoly?” She wasn’t sure why the other adults laughed when she blurted it out, but she was glad that they seemed more relaxed. Her aunt turned out to be quite good at the game, and she was happy to share her strategies with Optimus. By the time she was sent to her air mattress in the master bedroom her parents and her always occupied in the beach house, she’d forgotten why she’d felt so nervous and was too busy thinking about how she could beat her friends at Monopoly when she got back to school. 

* * *

After that night, Sentinel was a regular fixture at family gatherings, but Optimus rarely spoke to her. She generally sat at a card table with several other of her aunts and uncles, talking in low voices and shrouded in a haze of cigarette smoke. Optimus saw her aunt watching her sometimes. Her stare was never friendly like her uncle’s, or welcoming, like her grandmother’s, but it wasn’t malicious either. It was just...analytical. She ran for office when Optimus was ten, and Optimus put her pin on her backpack and told her friends that her aunt was a _ congresswoman _without completely understanding what that meant. The presents she sent Optimus every year for her birthday were expensive and always seemed meant for a much older person--autographed military biographies, cashmere sweaters, or something she’d picked up while traveling overseas. Optimus liked them. They made her feel respected, the same way she felt when her mother talked to her about real estate law at the dinner table. 

In the weeks after her uncle’s death, part of Optimus expected her parents to come into her room and tell her that her aunt was gone too. She knew her aunt had been in the army around the same time that her favorite uncle had, and at his funeral she watched her closely, hoping she would somehow _ know _ if Sentinel was planning something similar. But she was as inscrutable as ever. She sat near the back, and Secret Service agents hovered around her as she swept out of the reception. 

Three months after her uncle’s funeral, she was leaving her job at the New York law library when an unfamiliar car pulled up. Her aunt rolled down the window. 

“I had hoped you would join me for dinner.”

They went to a gourmet Ethiopian restaurant that Sentinel said was her favorite and awkwardly waited for their food. 

“So.” Sentinel folded her hands on the table. “You’re applying to colleges, I hear?”

Optimus traced the pattern on the tablecloth. “Mom wants me to go to Yale. And I know it would be tough, but I have good grades, and my boss at the law library says she’d write me a letter of recommendation. I like Columbia too.”

Sentinel made a soft noise in the back of her throat. “What would you do there?”

“I’m really interested in library science.” She reached for the lentil dip to give her hands something to do. “The history of how we store information is fascinating, and with the new developments in technology there are so many questions of how libraries are going to evolve.”

Sentinel made another noncommittal noise and took a sip of the wine she’d ordered for the table. “Interesting.”

“Working at the law library is incredible. Today I was looking at this book on laws passed in New York City during World War Two, and it’s kind of amazing, the impact that they continue to have on people’s lives today. And my boss told me she could get me a part-time job at the Library of Congress next summer, which is kind of a dream of mine.” Her aunt still seemed impassive, and she felt the anxious tug in her stomach that always came up at family events when guests weren’t having a good time. “What do you think?”

“To be completely honest, I had hoped you would consider a career in the military.”

Optimus took a sip of wine to cover her shock, trying not to make a face. She wished she had just ordered a Coke, regardless of whether or not her aunt would have considered it low-class. “Are you serious?”

Her aunt raised an eyebrow. “Are you not interested in the military?”

“I just--” Her voice sounded small and stupid. “I don’t believe in using violence to solve problems.” Sentinel frowned, and Optimus hurried to continue. “I understand the nature of your job, and I respect the work you’re doing, I just--I don’t want to hurt people.”

“You understand, of course, that war is going to happen, regardless of what you decide to do.” Her aunt ripped a piece of bread in half and scooped up some more lentil dip. “You cannot stop it. What you can do is decide whether you want to hide in a library or make yourself part of the solution.”

“I’m not hiding.” She cleared her throat, trying to gather her thoughts. “I just--What’s wrong with library science?”

“Optimus, I’ve always sensed that we have a great deal in common. I’ve watched you grow up--you’re remarkably talented and you have a lot to offer the world. In the next few years, you’re going to be making a lot of important decisions, decisions that could define the trajectory of your life. When you’re making them, you can’t let your emotions get in the way. Think about your responsibility to the world, as a young person, and as a Prime.” She reached across the table and squeezed Optimus’s hand. “I trust you’ll make the right decision.”

Optimus looked down at their hands on the table. They had the same dark brown skin and slender fingers, and she noticed that her aunt’s cuticles were bitten down to the quick, just like her own. “Why does the right decision require violence?”

Her aunt smiled faintly. “You know what I always say. There can be no victory without sacrifice.”

Their food arrived and the direction of the conversation changed, but her words stayed in the air between them. 

When she got home, Optimus fished the pamphlet she’d gotten on West Point out of her backpack and read it over, and decided to send a request for an information packet. It couldn’t hurt to know more, she reasoned. 

* * *

**Twenty Years Later**

“I’m sorry, Optimus. I really am.”

She squeezed her hands into fists so she wouldn’t pick at her cuticles, trying to understand. “I don’t understand. This rescue mission is airtight. I know this terrain, it’s just me and a handful of other soldiers, and there’s not even too much strain on the budget. I ran the numbers three times. Why did the president say no?”

“I tried to convince her, believe me. It was a difficult meeting” 

“These people are my crew. They’re my responsibility. They’re _ family, _Sentinel. You would do it for me.”

“Optimus, I told the president all of this. And to be blunt, we can’t risk it. They’re expandable. You’re not. We can win the war without them, but we can’t win the war without you.”

“If American soldiers die on this mission, there’s going to be calls for blood. So far this mission has been peaceful, and we’re putting that at risk too. You know this, and the president knows this too. Before we know it we’ll be in another quagmire.” 

Something like regret flashed across her aunt’s face and for a moment, Optimus thought she had changed her mind. But then it was gone. “It’s what they would want, Optimus. They knew what they signed up for.” 

“Goddamn it, Sentinel, they didn’t sign up for their people to leave them behind! Do you even know their names?” 

Her aunt’s face hardened. “_Language, _Optimus.”

“Are you serious?”

“We don’t have the resources to get them out. Believe me, I am sorry. When we take the base we can try to retrieve something for their families.”

Optimus stared at her aunt, dumbfounded. “That’s it?”

“No sacrifice, no victory.”

She tapped the end call button before she said something she regretted and stormed out into the Siberian cold, turning up her coat collar and tucking her hands into her pockets. 

* * *

The wind stung her face and she squeezed her eyes shut. She heard footsteps but didn’t turn towards them. “Prime? What did she say?” 

“She won’t greenlight the rescue mission.” 

“Fuck. For real?” Ironhide held out a steaming cup of...something hot. Optimus wasn’t sure what it was. It was too cold to care. She took a swig and sighed, shaking her head. 

“She says she took it to the president and he said it was too risky.” The coffee was bitter and left a gritty feeling in her throat. Ironhide put a hand on her shoulder.

“What’s next?”

“They’ve been gone for two days. They could already be dead. And our orders are to hold. She told me to leave our people to die.” Optimus stared at the frozen ground. “Will you gather everyone in the mess hall? I’ll give an update in a half hour.”

“Prime, if you need to--”

“I’m fine, ‘Hide. Don’t worry about me. I’m not the one in trouble.”

She was going to be forty in two months, Optimus thought, turning over the metal cup and watching the drops of liquid hit the ground and melt into the frost. It was hardly the time to be questioning the career she’d dedicated her entire life to. She walked around the parameter of the camp, unsure of where to go, eventually deciding on her office because she knew it would at least slightly warmer and, more importantly, empty, and she wouldn’t have to explain to anyone that she’d been ordered to leave her people behind.

_ No sacrifice, no victory _. Sentinel had even given her a framed copy of the quote after she was promoted to general five years ago. It was in a place of honor on her desk. The mantra had gotten her through some dark times, but it brought her no comfort now. Because what was the victory they were fighting for, anyway? She had been fighting for nearly twenty years--could she honestly say the world was any safer? Of course, she could think about it. Other people had to live the answer. 

_ “Why did you enlist?” Optimus poured another cup of coffee, stirring in powdered creamer with a plastic fork. The night shift was long, but she signed up for it every week so she could get to know new recruits. _

_ Cliffjumper half-laughed, flicking out an attachment on her pocketknife with one hand and propping her combat boot on the table so she could carve something on it. “It was this or a job in my uncle’s garage. I didn’t have the grades or the money for a fancy university or any shit like that. And I figured I could do something useful overseas. My ma’s proud of me. Sends me care packages. Sends ‘em to Hound too.” _

_ “You’re going to cut off your finger.” Hound glanced up from where they were resting their head on the table. _

_ “Fuck off.” A moment later she cursed again and stuck her finger in her mouth and Hound laughed. Optimus reached into her medical kit and handed her a bandage. _

_ “Thanks, boss.” _

She remembered Cliffjumper sharing the contents of the care package she had gotten from home with the rest of their squadron a week ago and Hound showing up for their shifts, even after they spent half the night screaming from night terrors. They were so young. 

_ No sacrifice, no victory. _

“Not today,” Optimus murmured, standing up and sliding the framed quote into her desk drawer. 

* * *

She had (she thought) successfully gotten out of the camp undetected and been driving for about an hour when someone sneezed and she nearly drove her truck off the road. 

“What the hell are you three doing here?”

Ratchet rolled her eyes. “What does it look like we’re doing?”

“This isn’t an authorized mission. You’re throwing away your reputations, possibly your entire careers--”

“General.” Ironhide sounded like she was trying very hard to not sound sarcastic, but her accent made it impossible. “You realize that’s exactly what you’re doing?” 

“You’re going back. All of you. Take the car and go now, and you’ll be back before they realize you’re gone. Here.” She held out the keys to Elita, who shook his head.

“Do you really think we’re going to do that?”

“It’s an order.”

“Optimus, listen to yourself.” 

“I am _ not _ endangering the three of you for an unauthorized mission. You have families, futures--”

“So do you.” Ratchet chimed in. 

“Optimus.” Elita held up his hand. “If you thought this was a bad mission, why are you here?”

“I made this mistake. It’s on me. But I’m not allowing you to ruin your lives because I was an idiot.”

“You’re not _ allowing _anything, and you’re not an idiot.” Elita’s mouth was set in a determined line. “We’re here because we want to bring those kids home too. We’re here because you’re right, Optimus, and we trust you to make this right. And we’re here because if you’re going to do something reckless and stupid, you shouldn’t do it alone.”

Optimus looked at Elita, and then at Ironhide, who nodded, her grey ponytail swaying behind her. “What he said.”

“Also.” Ratchet pointed at herself. “You need a medic.”

* * *

Optimus pushed open the door to the third storage container in the military encampment scanning it for a glimpse of her people.

The hair on the back of her neck stood up and she ducked, just as a piece of metal whooshed through the air behind her.

“Hey!” She whipped around to see Cliffjumper. She had a chair leg in one hand and the other one was pressed to her abdomen. 

“You wanna fight? Come on, let’s fucking party!”

“Cliff!” Hound caught her as she started to sway, nodding gratefully at Optimus. They were pale too, and had a nasty-looking black eye. “It’s our people.”

Optimus looked worriedly at the bruise and the handkerchief they’d tied around their wrist. “Are you hurt?”

They shook their head. “I’m fine, General. Sprained wrist. Someone pushed me down and I caught myself funny.Cliff pissed some guy off though, and he kicked her pretty hard in the stomach and ribs.” They sat heavily on the floor, still supporting Cliffjumper’s weight.

“Goddamn it.” Ratchet yanked off her jacket and balled it up, shoving it under Cliffjumper’s head before dropping to her knees to examine the injuries. “You and your smart mouth. Couldn’t just shut up for once, could you, Cliff?”

Cliffjumper laughed shakily, sounding almost drunk. “You should see the other guy.”

Optimus recognized the set of the medic’s jaw, the way her eyebrows drew together. It was bad.

“Ratchet, talk to me.”

“We need to get back to the camp. I’m worried she might have internal bleeding.”

Cliffjumper groaned. “S’where the blood’s supposed to be, doc.” She was so pale her freckles looked like ink spots on her face. 

Footsteps echoed behind her, and Optimus pivoted towards the door, sighing with relief when Elita and Ironhide rounded the corner. Elita had a still-bleeding bullet wound in his thigh and his mouth was set in a tight line. 

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. For now. A guard saw us. He ran off but he’ll be back, and he was radioing his buddies. They’re going to have the perimeter secured.”

“Great.” Ratchet’s voice was strained as she helped Cliffjumper to her feet, another bad sign. “How do we get out?”

“Not to worry.” Optimus eyed the truck parked in the corner of the warehouse. “I have a plan.” 

“You always do, don’t ya?” Ironhide reloaded her gun with a sharp _ click-click. _ “Just another day at work.” 

* * *

**Ten Years Later**

Outside her unofficial campaign headquarters there was an alleyway. It was about ten feet wide, covered with scribbles of graffiti and littered with newspapers and fast food bags. But it was quiet. 

_ I’m here. _ Gunshots echoed in her ears. _ No, focus. I’m here_. _ I’m here. _ She breathed out, pressing her hands into her eyes.

“Um, Senator?” 

Optimus turned around, instinctively straightening up. “Yes, that’s me.”

The volunteer cleared her throat .“Hi. Sorry to bother you, you--you just had a call from someone, she said she was the Secretary of Defense?”

Optimus sighed. “No, it’s all right. Thank you for bringing me my phone.” She paused. “What’s your name?”

The volunteer ran a hand through her dark curly hair. “Bumblebee.” 

Optimus squeezed her shoulder. “If you ever need to talk about this, or anything else, just let me know, okay?”

“Thank you. I um, I really admire your work, Senator.”

She waited for Bumblebee to go back inside before hitting the call back button. 

“Sentinel.”

“You saw the news, I assume.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “Yes. I don’t know what--”

“We’re gonna get those bastards, Optimus, I promise.”

“Do we know anything about who was behind it?”

“I’m going to keep you informed. Don’t worry. We’re in this together.”

* * *

Arlington Cemetery was quiet. She saw some other families paying respects, but she avoided them, turning up her jacket collar and keeping her eyes down until she got where she wanted to be.

“I don’t know what to do.” She placed the quarter on her uncle’s gravestone with a soft _ click_, bowing her head. 

It had been two weeks since the embassy bombing. She’d seen the photos on the news, over and over again. Sentinel had been on the news multiple times too, even on the radio show Optimus listened to while she drove to Arlington. 

“Nine American children were killed in the bombing. They were on their spring break, looking forward to spending time with their parents. It is essential that we honor their memory with swift, decisive action.”

Even though it was in the high seventies, Optimus felt cold. 

“I wish you were here. But...I think I know what you’d say.”

She remembered her uncle talking to her as she did her history homework. _ War is ugly, Optimus. Anyone who tells you otherwise has either never been to war or they’re lying to you._

She felt a hand on her shoulder and flinched before she realized who it was.“Optimus. I thought I’d find you here.” 

“Do you come here too?” She turned to her aunt, who was also wearing dark sunglasses. “Sometimes I think I can feel him here.”

Sentinel shook her head, pulling her glasses off and polishing them on her jacket lapel. “I don’t believe in fairy tales, but this is a place that has meaning to our military. So it has meaning to me.” She looked at the gravestone solemnly. “I never got a chance to say goodbye to him. He never understood me, and I didn’t understand him, but he was family.”

Optimus reached out and took her aunt’s hand. “I know he loved you. He loved everyone.” 

“You know how important these next few weeks are, right? We have to get justice, not just for those innocent people whose lives were cut short but for our family.”

The pit in Optimus’ stomach grew. She swallowed, trying to keep her thoughts together. 

“Do you understand, Optimus?”

“I just don’t think I can say, in good conscience, that a full-scale invasion is the best move. We don’t even know—”

“You know me, don’t you?” Sentinel squeezed her hand. “I wouldn’t steer you wrong on this. Your campaign—”

“I don’t care about my campaign.” Optimus pulled away and shoved her hands in her jean jacket pockets. “I care about keeping more innocent people from getting hurt.”

“Well, that’s just unrealistic, Optimus.” Sentinel crossed her arms. “Look, if you’re afraid of getting into a fight on the floor about funding, I know you had some trouble with Megatron last year.”

“It’s not that.”

“Then I don’t understand what the problem is! You were elected to make tough decisions, and this is one I need you to make.” 

“I should go.”

“Can I count on you? Listen--” Her aunt took a step closer to her and Optimus noticed that her eyes looked tired. She wondered if she had been sleeping. “This has been hard on me too. I need to know that I can trust you to do what’s right.”

Optimus nodded. “You—you know I trust you Sentinel.”

“Good.” Sentinel squeezed her arm. “We’re going to get through this.” 

* * *

Jazz had gotten about fifteen minutes of sleep when her Blackberry buzzed. She grumbled and rolled over, pulling her pillow over her head. It buzzed again. And again.

“Shut up.”

It buzzed insistently.

“Fine.” She grabbed it out of its charger and propped it in the general vicinity of her ear. “Who is it?”

“Jazz? Jazz, it’s Prowl. I need to talk to you right away.”

Jazz double-checked the time. Yup, it was two am. “Prowl, can this wait?”

“No, if it could do you think I’d be calling? This is urgent.”

“Is it work-related, or did someone take your lunch out of the fridge again?”

“That was a calculated attack on our office and this is _ much _ more important than that.”

Jazz sighed and pushed herself out of bed. “Okay, Prowler. What’s going on?”

“I’m downstairs, buzz me in.”

“Are you--” She sighed. “Fine.”

Prowl paced around Jazz’s neat kitchen like she was possessed, muttering to herself as Jazz fired up her espresso machine. Jazz had never seen her so stressed out. And she’d seen Prowl get pretty stressed out before.

“Do you want cream?”

Prowl looked at her, startled. “What?”

“Cream. If we’re talking this late at night—well, early in the morning—we’re having coffee.”

“All right.” Prowl cleared her throat. “A splash of cream, I guess?”

“Excellent.” Jazz poured Prowl’s drink into one of her tiny espresso mugs and placed it in front of her. Prowl was tense, her shoulders tight, and Jazz squeezed her arm as she sat down.

“Hey. Whatever this is, we’re gonna work it out together. I promise, it’s not as bad as you think it is.”

Prowl looked up at her, exhaling. “Okay.”

Jazz took a sip of her drink, letting the caffeine work its magic on her tired brain. “What’s going on?”

“Well. You know how I, um, have some connections with, uh, journalists. Who might be considered, um, somewhat shady.”

Jazz knew instantly who Prowl was talking about. She’d seen Lockdown at her press briefings, ever since the early days of Optimus’ first senate campaign. Lockdown was a sleazy, smirking woman in a spiked leather jacket. She and Prowl clearly had a history, but Jazz didn’t know the contours of it. Her espresso suddenly tasted bitter and she reached for the sugar.

Lockdown would swing by her office sometimes and ask to speak to Prowl for “personal reasons.” Prowl would show up, usually blushing, and drag Lockdown out of the room, returning later with rumpled clothes and a manilla envelope. They’d gotten things like a copy of a business contract, blueprints of a building with a secret room, or even occasionally the financial numbers for a PAC. Useful for getting what they wanted, but not something their boss would be a fan of. “Need to know, right?” Prowl always said, and Jazz would nod. Ever since the senator’s first run, she and Prowl had come to the agreement that it was best to keep a layer of insulation around the senator, especially as she had started gearing up to run for president. It was good. Prowl might have been a stress case, but she was a good work partner, and she and Jazz worked well together. 

“So we were, um, talking, and she gave me this.” Prowl held up a datastick. “And I got home an hour ago and I looked at it.” She grabbed the espresso cup and gulped it down like it was a shot, making a face and standing up suddenly. “Do you have anything stronger?”

“What’s on the data stick?”

“Oh god. Okay.” Prowl sat back down. “It’s about Sentinel.” Jazz suddenly understood why Prowl was having a meltdown. 

“Is this about the embassy bombing?” 

“Sort of. It’s more about, you know, the office the Department of Defense set up to handle the investigation?” 

“The Office of Special Plans? Yeah, Prowler, I know it. I’ve only explained it to George Stefanopolis and Margaret Brennan. And Chuck Todd, twice.”

“And we both know what the secretary wants.”

Jazz snorted. “Of course. She wants an invasion, and she wants Senator Prime to be the face of it.” She’d basically been beating the Department of Defense off with a stick for two weeks. Of course, Sentinel never respected office rules and called the senator directly, regardless of where she was, even though Jazz had sent her multiple emails about it. Not that she was bitter or anything. 

“Right, of course. Okay, so on the data stick—” Prowl sucked in a deep breath. “—There are documents. And after looking at them, I have been forced to come to the conclusion some documents that led me to believe that the evidence supporting the invasion has been falsified. And—um—the bombing might even have been staged.”

Jazz put her espresso cup down with a clatter. She was suddenly reminded of the small earthquake that had rattled D.C. last year, how everything had started to shake and fall off of desks. At first, she thought she was the only one feeling it, and then she looked out her window and saw people staring at each other in shock and buildings wobbling and she realized this was actually happening. 

“So, Sentinel is trying to lie us into a war. Fuck. We have to talk to Optimus.” She paused. “How sure are you that this is accurate?”

“I don’t know. Loc—My source hasn’t given me misinformation before but we should confirm it.” 

“All right.” Jazz stood up and walked back over to her espresso machine. “I’m on _ State of the Union _at seven am. You get started researching. I’ll be back with falafel at ten.”

“Okay.” Prowl pulled her laptop out of her briefcase. “Let’s do this.”

* * *

Optimus took off her reading glasses, regarding both of them with the most serious expression Jazz had ever seen on her face. 

“Are you two certain that this is correct?”

“Yeah.” 

“Yes, Senator.”

Optimus closed her eyes for a moment, something inscrutable flashing across her face. Then she opened them again, and it was gone. “Why did you two choose to come to me with this?”

“I...I don’t understand.” Prowl looked panicked, and Jazz squeezed her hand under the table. She didn’t know the answer either. 

“You didn’t know what I’d do with this information. Sentential is my family, I could order you two to bury it. Or I could be in on it. How could you know?” Her eyes were almost pleading, and Jazz suddenly understood. 

“Senator—Optimus. Prowl and I have been with you since you declared your candidacy. We know you. And you wouldn’t stand for this. Your aunt might, but you’re not her.”

“Jazz!” Prowl looked shocked but Optimus held up her hand. 

“It’s all right, Prowl. What do you think about this?”

“Oh! I...um...” Prowl folded her hands in her lap, looking from Jazz to Optimus. “Okay. Well. You told me once, um, that bad things happen when good people do nothing. And, well, you’re a good person, Senator.”

“Thank you both.” Optimus’ expression was solemn, but no longer conflicted. “I have some business I need to take care of.”

She rose, putting on her jean jacket in one fluid motion. “I trust you two can manage the office while I am gone?”

Jazz nodded. “Of course, Senator.” 

And she was gone. Prowl turned to Jazz, her expression panicked. 

“What have we done, Jazz?”

Jazz gave in to the impulse and squeezed Prowl’s arm. “Not to be cliche, Prowler, but I think the best answer is ‘the right thing.’” 

Prowl’s hand tentatively covered hers, and they waited for the aftershocks. 

* * *

Optimus didn’t remember how she got to Sentinel's office. When she got there, she noticed people giving her odd looks, but she ignored them, pushing the door to her aunt’s office open.

“Oh, there you are!” Sentinel stood up, adjusting her blazer. “Look, I want to talk with you about your—”

“Is it true?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“Will you just stop trying to work me for ten seconds, Sentinel? I know about the Office of Special Plans, and the bombing, and everything else.”

Her aunt’s face immediately changed. “Optimus—”

“What I don’t understand is _ why_. You know what this means. People—hundreds of people—are going to _ die _ and for what?”

“Optimus.” She stared at her aunt’s face, looking for guilt, looking for any flicker of understanding of what she was doing. “Security is of the utmost importance. A war in Qatar will give us a presence, and as long as we don’t, we are all at risk.”

Optimus felt dizzy. After everything, she’d hoped, she’d really hoped that this wasn’t true. “Security? What about freedom? What about the truth? These people aren’t a threat, Sentinel.”

“Oh, Optimus, don’t be naive.”

“How is not wanting an unnecessary war naive?”

“We’re going to fight a war here, it’s just a matter of when. And if a hundred people have to die so a thousand can live, I will make that sacrifice. Because, as I’ve told you before, there is no victory without sacrifice.”

Blood roared in Optimus’ ears. “You don’t know that!”

“I’m privy to information you don’t have.”

“No.” Optimus cleared her throat, trying to gather her thoughts. “That won’t work on me now, okay? I’m a sitting U.S. Senator, we’re on the same level.”

“We’re nowhere _ near _ the same level. Optimus, you have so much potential, but you’re hindered by your emotions. You seem to think that people will do what you want if you’re _ nice _to them.”

“And you seem to think that what this country needs is a dictatorship.” 

Sentinel snorted. “Oh, please. There’s no need to be so dramatic.” 

“I’m not being—” She stopped herself. “No one elected the military to make these decisions”

“Please. The people are stupid, Optimus. They don’t want a librarian, they want a soldier. They want someone to tell them what’s right and what’s wrong. To point at the monsters and say ‘we got them.’”

“You’re wrong, Sentinel. You’re wrong about what people want, and you’re wrong about me.”

“Optimus, you’re blowing this whole thing out of proportion.”

“You are sending people’s children to kill other people’s children for reasons you made up! How am I overreacting?”

“I know you feel this way now, but in a few days you’ll understand, and you’ll be ready to work with me on this. Just in time for your campaign announcement.”

“You’re—you’re _ insane _ if you think I’m going to support this.”

“You don’t have a choice. I lead the party, and this is where the party is going.” 

Optimus swallowed hard, trying not to feel panicked. “Sentinel, you don’t control the party, and you don’t control what I do either. I’m running for president, but I’m doing it on my own terms, with my own platform. And you will not be involved in any of it.”

Sentinel tutted. “Oh, Optimus. They’re going to hate you, you realize that? Once you start making the tough decisions, they’ll hate you for not giving them what they want.”

“You’re never going to make me okay with this.” She turned to walk out before her aunt could say anything else.

“Let me know when you’re ready to come back.”

Her eyes were burning so badly she couldn’t see the elevator buttons. 

* * *

Rodimus blasted her Victory Playlist (trademark pending) as loudly as she could as she pulled into the yoga studio parking lot. 

“Drift!” She pushed the door open, ignoring the “Closed” sign.

“Roddy!” Her best friend came out of the back room, a wide grin on her face. “How’d the meeting go?”

“Well, I’m terribly sorry to inform you... that our green energy jobs campaign is officially...” She did a drumroll on the counter, nearly knocking over a scented candle. “Funded!”

Drift hugged her, and they bounced up and down together. “Bitch, I knew you could do it!”

“I couldn’t have done it without you, D.”

“C’mon.”

“No, I’m serious. You worked through your birthday to do it, too.”

Her friend rolled her eyes. “It was no problem.” 

“Still, I feel like you should get to celebrate. So...I thought we could go up to the beach house this weekend.”

Drift’s mouth fell open. “Shut up.”

“I’m serious! You’re still free, right?”

“To spend the weekend at the beach with you? Absolutely. We can stop at my place and I’ll pack some stuff. I need to pick up my yoga mat--you need to try this new exercise, it will change your life.”

Rodimus rolled her eyes affectionately and followed Drift out the door. 

* * *

The drive upstate to the beach was long, but they had a good time, singing along to the road trip playlist that Rodimus put together. 

It was night by the time they arrived. “God, I love it here.” Rodimus jumped out of the car, popping open the trunk and unloading her duffel bag. Drift joined her, pulling her long dark hair back into a messy twist. 

“Does your family own this house?”

“Yup.” Rodimus checked under three different decorative pots until she found the one with the hide-a-key. “Great-great-great grandma invested in beach real estate at a good time and now every year we have a barbecue and shit for the fourth. There’s a park in the boardwalk town named after her.”

“Wow, I’m shocked.”

Rodimus shoved her affectionately. “Shut up.”

“I’m just saying--there’s a lot of stuff named after the Primes.” 

“Well, you’re my family so it’s your house too. You just gotta call the morning before so you know it’ll be empty.” She unlocked the door, fumbling only a little bit. “So tomorrow, where do you want to go fir--” 

A ball of fur and slobber hit her and she staggered backwards into Drift, who caught her. 

“What the hell is that?”

“I don’t know!” Rodimus squinted, trying to recognize whoever the demonic home invader was. _ A werewolf? A zombie? A doppleganger of hers dressed like a furry? Wait-- _ “Roller!”

Drift carefully pushed her back onto her feet. “Who the fuck is Roller?”

Another voice spoke up. “She’s my dog.” Rodimus and Drift both spun around. Rodimus struck the most aggressive pose she could think of and Drift grabbed the nearest object to use as a weapon—a TV remote. 

“Rodimus?”

“Optimus? I mean, Senator, I mean—um—” There was a loud clatter and everyone jumped.

“Sorry.” Drift awkwardly half-waved. “Dropped my um, remote. Um, Senator Prime, I—saw you on C-Span one time, I think.” 

Optimus nodded. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“You too.” Roller bounced happily around the room, wagging her tail. Drift knelt down to scratch behind her ears. 

“So,” Rodimus scooped up her duffel bag, dropping it on one of the blue-and-white wicker chairs. “How are things?”

Optimus cleared her throat. “I was just looking to get out of Washington for a few hours. I didn’t mean to interrupt your weekend.”

“Oh, it’s no problem! I mean this is your house too.”

“I’ll be out of here by tonight.”

“It’s no problem, really. We were gonna order some pizza and watch a movie, if you want to stick around?”

“I shouldn’t—” Optimus shifted awkwardly, and Rodimus got the sense that there was something going on that she wasn’t aware of.

“Sure you should!” Rodimus grinned. “What do you think, Drift?”

“Can Roller stay too?”

“You know what? Sure.” Optimus sat down on the couch. “Roller seems to want to, and I’m not going to disagree with her.”

* * *

Drift ordered something vegan that Optimus didn’t recognize as pizza, but it tasted okay when she tried a bite of it. She and Rodimus split a meatball pizza with garlic bread.

They ended up watching _ Jurassic Park_, and then _ The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai_. Drift fell asleep somewhere during the second car chase scene, curled up in one of the soft blue blankets draped on the couch. 

“This movie is odd.” Optimus glanced over at her younger cousin, who was using a piece of garlic bread to scoop some pizza sauce off her plate, holding the whole operation over Roller’s head.

“Yeah, isn’t it great?” 

“I haven’t watched anything but the news in ages.”

“That’s depressing.” Rodimus glanced over at her. “You want more pizza?”

“I’m good.” Optimus looked down at the plate. She remembered eating breakfast off these plates when she was a kid on vacation here—waffles her dad made from scratch with fresh blueberries, scrambled eggs with dill from the window box herb garden, fruit cut up with cookie cutters.

The board games their family played in the evenings were on a shelf under the television. Clue. Scrabble. Monopoly. 

“Hey, Optimus? Are you okay?” 

“Yes, why would you ask? 

“You just look, like, really sad.”

“I...” Optimus stared at her hands. “Next week I’m supposed to announce that I’m running for president.” 

“That’s next week?”

“It’s supposed to be. I don’t think I’m going to.”

Rodimus looked surprised. “Why?” 

Optimus wasn’t sure what to say.

_ They’re going to hate you, you realize that? Once you start making the tough decisions, they’ll hate you for not giving them what they want. _

“Someone I trusted a lot lied to me. About a lot of things.”

“Shit, really?” Rodimus leaned closer to her. “I’m sorry.” 

“You don’t have to be, it’s not your fault.” 

“No, I just mean—” Rodimus gestured vaguely. “Like, it sucks that that happened to you.”

“It’s my fault. All the signs were there and I just didn’t see them. I pretended not to see them. Because I didn’t want to believe it.” 

“It’s not your fault.” 

“You don’t know that.” It came out more harshly than she intended it to. “I didn’t mean it that way.” 

“But you’re kind of right. I don’t know much. About this, I mean. I know a lot about other things. Do you want to talk about it?”

Optimus picked up a piece of garlic bread, tearing off a corner. “I joined the military because someone encouraged me to. Someone who I trusted to give me good advice and encourage me to do the right thing.” She half-laughed. “I killed people. You know that you’re going to do that in the military and I didn’t want to but I...I told myself people who were smarter than me were in charge, that they knew what they were doing.”

Rodimus turned the TV down more. “And as it turned out?”

“I don’t know how much of what she told me was real. I hurt people—I killed people, and it might have just been because some people wanted to win an election.”

“Oh my god.”

“And I ran for office, and I listened to this person again—”

“Optimus, not to be like, weird about this, but is this person Sentinel?”

“How did you—” Optimus sighed. “Yes. I suppose it was kind of obvious.”

“Only at the end.”

“Sentinel encouraged you to run?”

“She helped me develop a platform and meet important people—she was always supportive of my work.” _ They’re going to hate you. You realize that, right? _“I honestly don’t think I can run for president without her.”

“Really?” Rodimus sounded skeptical. “I mean she can be really—” She cleared her throat.

“Never mind.”

“What?” Optimus looked over at her cousin, who was scratching behind Roller’s ears.

“I don’t know, maybe it’s just me being crazy.”

Something about the expression on her face made Optimus feel an odd sense of deja vu. “Trust me, I work in the government. I hear a lot of crazy ideas.”

“Okay. I just—like, Sentinel doesn’t ever pay any attention to me. So it’s just...weird to picture her as a mentor figure.”

“Really? Optimus stared at her. “I mean, she believes so much in family. She hasn’t talked to you about law school or your environmental work?” 

“She thinks I’m stupid.” Rodimus finished her piece of garlic bread. “I mean, she’s never said that but I know. I can tell.”

Something sharp pierced through the cold haze that had sunk over Optimus’ mind and she was suddenly furious. “She doesn’t know anything, you know that?”

“Optimus—”

“No, if she thinks that she’s _ wrong. _You’re not stupid, Rodimus.”

Her cousin looked over at her. “Okay, so Sentinel is totally wrong about me being stupid but totally right about you being incapable of running for president without her.”

“That isn’t—” 

“That isn’t the same thing? How?”

Optimus reached over to pet Roller. “I suppose you can put it like that.”

“You suppose?” 

“I understand what you’re trying to say, Rodimus.”

“Fine, my pep talk is uninspired! That doesn’t make me any less right. Look, Optimus, _ you’re _ the person I look up to, not Sentinel. You’re the one who told me I wasn’t stupid to think about law school and sent me stuff about green jobs. The whole time I was studying for the bar, I was thinking about how I wanted to be like you.”

“Don’t say that.” Optimus grabbed Rodimus’ arm. “Don’t try to be like me, okay? You’re _ you._ And that’s—that’s better, okay? You’re gonna achieve amazing things, Rodimus, and it’s not because you share genetic material with me or Sentinel, or anyone else.”

“Optimus...” Rodimus looked back down at Roller, who snorted softly in her sleep. “That’s really, um—It means a lot to me to hear that. But, like, you know it’s true for you too right? I don’t know what Sentinel has said to you but you’re going to be a good president because you’re you. And if she’s in your head telling you that you have to be like her to be president, maybe you should kick her out.”

* * *

Optimus pulled over at a rest stop halfway to DC, somewhere called the Delaware House. She bought a bottle of water for Roller and a cup of coffee for herself. Roller happily drank the water, wagging her elegant fringed tail. 

“Good girl,” she murmured, taking a long sip of her coffee. Trucks drove by, large hulking shapes that were comforting in their familiarity. She was somewhere that no one looked twice at her, and it was peaceful.

Her phone rang again. It had been buzzing nonstop since she started the long drive home. She’d texted Elita and Ironhide, letting them know she was safe, she loved them, and she would be back in Washington soon. 

<Next time don’t kidnap Roller.> Elita had said.<And call me when you have the chance. I’ll be here.>

<Whatever’s happening, you know I’m on your team.> Ironhide sent, along with a small picture of a cowboy. 

There were three calls from Prowl and one from Jazz, and a whopping fifteen from Sentinel. She deleted the messages one by one, scratching behind Roller’s ears. “What do you think, Roller?” 

Roller nosed at her hand. 

“Yeah. Me too.”

Sentinel picked up on the first ring. “Optimus! It’s so good to hear from you.”

_ This is how it’s always going to be_, Optimus said to herself. _ Stop expecting it to be different. _

“Listen, I know you’re angry, Optimus, but I hope one day you’ll understand why I made the decisions I did.”

“I’m honestly not interested in that, Sentinel. I’ve told you what I think already.”

“All right. Well, let me know when you’re ready to talk about your campaign for president again. I have some ideas about who you should pick for your running mate.”

“Sentinel, you’re not going to have anything to do with my campaign."

Her aunt laughed. “All right then. Well, I suppose I’ll talk to you soon.”

“You don’t have to believe me, but I mean it.” 

“Honey, I don’t think you realize what you’re doing. Without me, you’re not going to make it past Iowa. I control the party, the donors, the fundraising—”

“Sentinel.” _ Don’t take the bait_. “I don’t need you to win.”

Her aunt’s tone changed. “Optimus, I hope you know I’m proud of you. You’ve come a long way, and I know I’ve taught you well.”

“You have, but perhaps not in the way you’re trying to convince me that you did.”

“You’re being extremely selfish, Optimus. We could do so much together if you were just willing to stop being so immature and work in the real world.”

Optimus leaned back in her seat, watching the neon lights. “I really don’t want to play games with you anymore, Sentinel.”

“Games? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m going to win next November, and I’m not going to do it because I’m like you. I’m going to do it because I’m not like you. And I never will be.”

“Optimus—”

“Goodbye, Sentinel.” She hung up the phone, plugging it back into her car charger. “Come on, Roller. Let’s go home.”

**Author's Note:**

> Holy SHIT this was long I'm so sorry.


End file.
